Cipher, Cipher (Stalkings)
by drunken wanker
Summary: someone uses the book in order to follow Dipper, and Dipper's life becomes a living psychological Hell. His life is on the line as he must protect his sister and himself from Bill's threats.
1. Chapter 1

Stan groaned and rubbed his temples, sitting up to the sound of a loud telephone's shriek.

Who the hell was calling him at this hour?

He stumbled through the dark and clicked on the light at the other side of his room. He reached for the phone and held it to his ear. He cleared his throat grotesquely and spoke. "Eh...hello?"

"G-grun-g-gruncle Stan, it's, it's..."

"Dipper?" Stan, concerned, responded to the distressed voice on the other line.

"I-I-I need to g-get the j-j-j..." The rambling was cut off by a loss of breath, a sniffle, and... a sob?

Was Dipper crying?

"Dipper, what's the matter?"

"I need fire, I need to burn it, I n-need to g-get rid of it, I-"

"Rid of what?"

"The j-j-journal..."

Stan cringed at the thought of Dipper's current predicament, and at the thought of all those secrets and mysteries being gone...

Then it struck a chord.

Dipper didn't just want to burn the journals. The journals were just spooky little theories scribbled onto pages...there had to be something along with it to make Dipper be saying the things he was. Back in Oregon, it helped the kid sleep at night knowing the book was in arms' reach. And now, his main concern was to keep them away...

"Kid, calm down, where are you?"

"I'm-I'm in the corner of my room."

"Dipper, I need you to get everyone out of the house, you got that?"

"I-I can't..."

"Why not?"

"Because h-h-he's after me."

"Who?"

"...Bill."

~~~4 hours earlier~~~

Mabel yawned and pulled her headband loose of her thick brown hair. Dipper sat on the edge of the bed, giving a distraught sign and tucking the journal under his pillow.

The journal didn't give him a feel of familiarity as he had hoped. He had hoped that holding the book would give him a sense of comfort and Gravity-Falls-edness, but holding it was indifferent, almost like holding a fictional adventure book from your local library.

Almost.

He could still feel a sense of mystery and excited stress, like when you impatiently await the continuation of an adventurous TV show, full of threatening secrets and demons that could only come from legendary folklore, dangerous perils in which lives are at stake, and characters that leave you suspicious and on edge-trust no one.

He could feel this just by touching the brass hand on the cover.

"Dipper?" A voice broke through the darkness of the twins' bedroom.

"Yeah, Mabel?"

"I feel weird."

Dipper turned to his side and faced her, Mabel was on her back and staring at the ceiling.

"How?" Dipper asked.

"Like...like when I wake up, I won't be back in the room in the mystery shack, and I won't see Stan and Soos and Wendy and... I don't know. I have to get used to being back home."

"Yeah, I feel it, too."

Mabel rolled over to face him. "You miss them?"

"Yeah."

"A lot?"

"...yeah."

"I bet you miss Wendy most."

Dipper glared, blood rushing to his face as he pulled a pillow from the opposite end of his bed and threw it forcefully at Mabel, who only giggled and stuck her silly little tongue out in retaliation.

"Night, Dipper."

"Night, Mabel."

And they were out like a light.

Dipper wasn't sure what time it was when he heard deep, yet somewhat high pitched laughter echoing around him. His initial reaction was widened eyes, his breath caught in his throat, and his muscles all became tense.

He sat up and glanced down at his pillow. A pulsing light greeted him, and he pulled the book out from under it.

The hand was glowing.

He cautiously picked up the book and stood up. In the same fashion you would hold a bag of dog defecation, he held the book far out in front of him by only his thumb and forefinger.

But instead of throwing it out, he set it out on the counter of the garage, hoping that it wouldn't disturb them overnight.

He walked back down the hall to his room, but took a sudden hault when he looked into the bedroom. Mabel wasn't in her bed. Her eyes were open wide and lifeless, there was a rope around her neck, and her feet hovered just above the carpeted floor.

Dipper's voice caught in his throat, and he stepped out of view. He suddenly released a blood curdling cry of grief.

Footsteps pounded on the floor, and seized abruptly as the people the steps belonged to saw the shaking, traumatized-looking boy pressed tensely against the wall, his palms sweaty and gaze far off.

"Dipper, honey, what's wrong?"

Dipper looked up at his worried looking parents. Before he could say anything, he burst into tears and held his head.

"Dipper?"

Now, that voice confused the hell out of him. He turned his head, and there stood his sister, looking tired, worried, confused, but relatively unharmed.

"B-but you..." He raised a trembling finger at her.

"What?" Dipper's mom asked, looking at the young girl.

Mabel cocked her head in confusion.

Dipper sighed. "Never mind." He shoved past Mabel and curled back up into his bed, holding himself tightly.

A few good night's and kisses were exchanged between Mabel and their parents, Before she came back into the room and lay down.

"Dipper, what happened?"

"Nothing."

Mabel rolled her eyes. "You're a terrible liar."

"I'm not trying to lie, I'm trying to get you to stop asking."

Mabel sighed. "Fine. Good night." She rolled over with her back to her brother.

Dipper frowned.

He shut his eyes and tried to fall back asleep, before a voice interrupted his desperate efforts.

"Don't end up like her," it whispered, and visual flashes of a slaughtered little girl with blood staining her comical sweaters and skirt and face met Dipper's view.

"Don't throw me away..."

"Don't get rid of me..."

The voice became louder and louder, until it was screaming at and terrorizing him.

He felt a burn in his wrist, and, with a hiss, held it up to his gaze.

Torn through his pale flesh was the shape of a triangle with an eyeball in the center.

Dipper, feeling numb and terrified, stood up to go the bathroom and tend to the wound, but, feeling too emotionally drained, picked up the phone on their dresser and stumbled into the corner of the room. He began to dial the number of the only person he could turn to in a time like this.

Stan.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Threeeee favorites oooovernight.

The aisles of the local Target store were crowded with young children, snot blotching their faces and not-yet-paid-for backpacks filled with brand new school supplies.

Dipper wandered down the aisles, mindlessly plucking notebooks and pencils off the shelves. Mabel was wandering off God knows where.

Dipper, opening up one of the notebooks, gasped sharply as a glitter-glue painting of Bill Cypher met his eyes. He stared at it, lost in thoughts of last night.

"Awkward unexpected sibling tackle!" came a voice from behind him. Dipper yelled as a sweater-headband sporting twin leapt onto his back.

"Ha, ha, I gotcha!" Mabel laughed to herself, receiving a glare from her shaken brother.

In her arms were a pile of pink composition books and colorful gel pen packages.

"Are you done?" Dipper asked her, sounding exasperated.

"Yep!" Mabel held up her arms to present her notebooks.

"All right, let's go."

Mabel was already walking ahead, and Dipper flipped open the previous notebook.

Bill was gone.

Dipper sighed and caught up with his sister, pulling the twenty dollars out of his pocket and sliding it to the woman on the other side of the counter.

As soon as they retrieved their bags and left the store, Mabel looked up at Dipper and asked innocently, "So what happened last night?"

Dipper remained silent for a bit, twitching at the image of his dead sister.

"Dipper?"

"He's after me."

"Who?" Mabel asked curiously, head peeking up at desire of the juicy details.

"Bill?"

Mabel was about to laugh and make a snide remark until remembering Dipper's condition from last night. His wobbling arms, his sweaty palms against his head, pressing so hard she thought his skull would crush into itself in between his very own palms.

She couldn't laugh at that.

There were so many things that she could say, but the only thing that escaped from between her lips was, "how?"

"I...I heard his voice."

"What did he say...or I mean, what did he do?"

Dipper sucked in a deep breath, emotionally preparing himself to talk about what he had experienced last night.

"He just kept laughing, so I took the book down to the garage and when I came back up, You were..."

Mabel waited. "I was what?"

"You..." Dipper inhaled sharply. "You were hanging by your neck and you were..."

Mabel's eyes widened, her eyebrows squinched, "...dead?"

"Yeah," Dipper exhaled, adjusting his cap. "And then you came out to the hall and said my name, and you were alive, so I went back into the room, and I heard him again, and I kept seeing you dead, like that scene from The Shining when the boy saw those dead twins. "

He looked up at his sister, as if looking to make sure she was listening. Sure enough, she was listening with an intense stare on her face.

"And then my wrist started hurting and that triangle with the eyeball was cut into it, so I got up and I called Gruncle Stan."

"Oh, Dipper..." Mabel frowned.

"It's fine though, I can deal with it."

"But Dipper..."

"Just leave it to me to take care of, that way he won't hurt you, too."

Mabel frowned, wondering if the entity would really leave them alone like Dipper said.

She doubted it.


	3. Chapter 3

N: Ew, I'm sick.

The smell of roasted chicken drifted past Dipper's nostrils as he set the school supplies onto his bed.

Mabel followed after him, flopping down onto her bed and pulling out her school supplies. She laughed to herself gleefully as she admired her notebooks and folders. All of which were either pink or purple.

As Dipper expected, she whipped out a box of a Sharpies and began to doodle on them and write her name.

Dipper walked out and when to join his dad in the kitchen.

His mouth watered at the sizzling coming from the oven, and the warm garlic bread his dad had set out on the stove.

Dipper inhaled, taking in the delicious smells, then exhaled.

"Smell good?" His dad asked.

"Yeah," Dipper chuckled.

Dipper walked out to the garage, finding a pair of feet peeking out from under the car. It reminded him of Wizard of Oz, with the sparkling ruby shoes under the destroyed house or whatever. He had watched it many many times when he was younger, since Mabel had loved it so much and watched it constantly. Every. Single. Day.

The drilling sound stopped, and the woman scooted out from under the car, face covered in grease and dust.

She screamed with a start, not expecting to see Dipper in the doorway.

"Jimminy Christmas, Dipper, you scared me!" The woman, pale as a ghost, laughed.

"Sorry."

"Can you hand me the wipes on the counter?" She asked, motioning towards a package of Wet Wipes on the counter.

Dipper tossed it to her. She caught it effortlessly and pulled one out, scrubbing the grime off her face and then standing up.

"I'll finish this later, I need something in my stomach." She pulled off Dipper's hat and ruffled his hair, laughing as he cringed.

"Mom, your hands are dirty!"

"Well, a little dirt never hurt anyone."

"Have you ever heard of bacterial infection?"

"Touching your head with my dirty hand won't give you a bacterial infection."

Dipper rolled his eyes with a smile, and walked along side his mom into the kitchen.

His dad was servicing the plates in front of each of the four chairs, Mabel waiting eagerly to dig in.

Dipper sat down next to her and picked up his fork.

Dipper pulled on his T-shirt and sat down on his bed with a sigh. He lifted his foot and pulled his left sock off, throwing it aside. He hurt a disgusted huff, and turned to see Mabel swatting the sweaty sock away. Her hair was wet, and She was wearing her light, gold colored night gown.

Dipper laughed and pulled off his other sock. Mabel took off towards Her bed and took cover under her blankets.

"Safety!"

They both laughed, and Dipper flopped down onto his pillow.

"Where's the book?" Mabel asked, kicking the blankets off her head.

"Garage."

"Oh." Mabel sighed, and turned her back to the wall.

She was out like a light. Dipper stared at the ceiling and hoped, hoped, hoped so much his head hurt, that what happened last night wouldn't happen again.

He fell asleep with no trouble.

Nothing disturbed him until the sun was just peeking up over the horizon and the clock read 5:58.

He heard a frantic knocking at the door and a voice yelling his name.

He furrowed his eyebrows, recognizing the voice. He climbed out of bed and sped downstairs.

In the doorway, there stood a panting, exhausted looking Stan.

"S-Stan?!" Dipper gasped. "What are you doing here?"

"I..." He talked between breaths. "I got here as soon as I got your call."

"Call...?" Dipper hadn't remembered calling Stan. All he remembered was the visions and the emotions.

"Yeah, you sounded pathetic so I got here as soon as I could."

"Oh, uh... thanks."

"Where's the book?"

Dipper perked up, remembering what Stan was most likely here for.

"Oh, yeah, follow me!"

He sped off the hall, while Stan's frail old-man legs managed to stumble behind them.

Stan stood in the doorway of the garage, watching as Dipper took the book in his grasp.

"Here it is."

Stan took the book and flipped through it. "I can help you get rid of it."

"But..." Dipper grew timid. "He''ll... he'll kill Mabel or something, he said he would."

Stan furrowed his eyebrows. "Let me take care of this."

"Stan?" An older female voice asked. "What are you doing here?"

"Just dropping in." Stan chuckled.

"I...I didn't know you were coming."

"Well, now you do."

Dipper's mom cringed. And then she went back upstairs.

"Dipper," Stan's voice became serious. "I'm going to stay at the motel nearby to take care of some stuff," he raised the book, emphasizing the word 'stuff'.

Dipper nodded. "Yes, sir."

Stan tipped his fez and carried the book along with him out the front door.


End file.
